


Watermelon Sugar High

by rosemarianthyme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feminization, Fingering, Food Play, Genderplay, Inspired By The Vaginal Watermelon Imagery Yesterday, M/M, Masturbation, Needy Harry, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Simulated oral sex, Watermelon Pussy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemarianthyme/pseuds/rosemarianthyme
Summary: Resting right between his legs, the long slice open and juicy and red and his fingers pressed just so, it looked to his wine-hazy brain like a cunt. Like it could be /his/ cunt.(In which Harry Styles fingers a watermelon.)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 224





	Watermelon Sugar High

It all started with sangria, really. When Louis went out of town Harry tended to get sad and when he got sad he tended to drink but drinking alone made him sadder so he had to make it fun. When Louis went out of town he liked to experiment with cocktails, fruity drinks with pretty colors in his fanciest glasses topped with extra bits of fruit or little umbrellas if he had them. He liked to put on records and paint his nails and dance around the living room until he got wobbly and then he usually crawled into bed and left embarrassing voicemails on Louis’ phone about how much he missed him and the sort of things he’d do to him if Louis were in bed next to him but mostly sappy things about Louis’ eyelashes and the curves of his lips and the freckles on his cheek. Louis had a whole folder of them saved.

Harry had been left alone for nearly a week and he was feeling rather mopey. Louis had gone to visit his family but Harry had been forced to stay home and work and he’d been growing bored and needy. Louis was due back the next morning and had promised to leave the moment the sun rose but Harry wanted him home. He’d finished the last of the sangria in the fridge - the large pitcher he’d filled the day before - but he was still closer to tipsy than drunk. The sangria had been good, sweet and tangy, and he wanted more. He wondered if he was steady enough to wield a knife and decided to test it out.

There were three strawberries left in the produce drawer with a bundle of wilted spinach and a bag of baby carrots. He put them on the counter and frowned at the two lemons and the lime in their fruit bowl. He’d used the last orange the day before along with all the blueberries. He didn’t think he could make sangria with three strawberries.

Then he saw the watermelon, sitting big and proud and oblong next to the drawer where he kept his cupcake pans. You can make cocktails with watermelons, right? He’d had those before. Watermelon with strawberries and maybe the lime in the fruit bowl. With vodka. That could be something.

He pulled out a knife and started slicing the tops off the strawberries, humming along to the Britney Spears song that was echoing through the flat. He was doing great, he thought, tossing messy hunks of the fruit into a tall glass. His nails were painted the same reddish pink as the flesh of the berries and he smiled, pressing the tip of his nail against one piece. It gave easily, leaving a little half moon shape when he lifted his finger that filled with juice. He threw it in with the others and turned to the watermelon.

He was good at cutting watermelon - when he was sober, at least. He was a master of fruit salads and was known for bringing carved watermelon baskets to potlucks that outshined every other dish.

He wasn’t so good when his fourth glass of sangria was starting to hit and he was steadily shifting closer to drunk than tipsy.

He got the knife wedged in halfway through the rind when it stopped moving. He pressed against it with all his weight and tried changing his angle but it wouldn’t go any further. He wiggled it around, sticking his tongue out in concentration, and finally got it free. There was a slice down the long center of the melon that stopped halfway through. He frowned at it, and at his glass. Strawberries with vodka was just strawberries with vodka. He wanted strawberries and watermelon and lime and vodka. He pressed the knife into the rind again, trying a new angle. He pressed the blunt side with the flat of his palm, bending his elbow and pushing it down. The metal sank into the melon but stopped short again, refusing to budge. He yanked it free and let out a huff of frustration, setting down the knife and sinking down to the floor.

He held the watermelon against his chest, leaning back against the counter. He was tired and lonely and horny in the way that just made him miss Louis more because he always felt better when Louis was touching him and he felt certain that he would feel better if he just had a fancy fruity drink to sip but the watermelon wouldn’t let him open it which was rather rude of it. He looked down at it in his lap and felt as if he might cry.

The knife had cut two lopsided slits through the rind of the melon, close to crossing at the ends as if they might form one big slice if they met. He looked closer and saw that on one end the slices nearly did meet, just a small sliver of green keeping them apart. He reached up and felt around for the knife (something he’d never do if he wasn’t sad and drunk and too preoccupied with his watermelon to be thinking about knife safety) and held the melon between his knees while he worked the knife through the last bit of rind, forming a cross near the top. He put the knife back and wedged his fingertips into the point of the cross, slowly pulling back the slice of fruit. The other end of the rind cracked the more he pulled at it, snapping and breaking and finally releasing a wedge of watermelon.

Harry held it triumphantly over his head, juice dripping down his forearm, and grinned. He brought it to his mouth and bit into the grainy red fruit, relishing his success. His other hand was draped over the melon, keeping it in place on his lap. The way his fingers were spread, his pointer and pinky finger held wide on either side and his middle and ring finger curled into the corner of the missing slice, made his lips twist into a little smirk.

Resting right between his legs, the long slice open and juicy and red and his fingers pressed just so, it looked to his wine-hazy brain like a cunt. Like it could be  _ his _ cunt.

The crescent of melon was dropped forgotten to the floor, freeing up his other hand. He felt something squeeze lightly in his chest as he lowered his fingers to the length of the slit, dragging them along it experimentally. The sides were rough from his clumsy knife work but further down the fruit was soft and delicate, molding easily to his touch.

His face felt hot, the light flush of the wine deepening to a scorching blush as he teased his fingers along the opening. He was hardening quickly, his cock filling up beneath the press of the fruit.

He let his fingers dip deeper, exploring the flesh of the melon and humming softly at the feel of juice collecting on the pads of his fingers. There was a spot, about two thirds of the way down the line of the slit, where the fruit was extra soft. It had gone mushy, leaving a little hollow of juice and pulp. He circled his middle finger through it, gasping at the sensation.

He hitched up his hips, circling them slightly to follow the movement of his finger, and could almost imagine that he was touching himself.

He bit his lip, letting out a soft moan as he pressed his finger down, digging deep enough to bury it up to the knuckle. He drew it out and pressed another in beside it, starting to build up a rhythm. Watermelon juice was pooling around his fingers, splashing up across his wrist and making loud squelching sounds as his fingers plunged in and out of the hole. He arched his back, his knees falling open on instinct and nearly letting the melon fall to the floor. He caught it clumsily with his left hand, his right still buried deep inside, and kept it nestled snug between his thighs.

His hips were moving along with each thrust, grinding up into the curve of the fruit and embarrassingly close to coming. He wondered if he could come like this, just pressing against something and imagining his fingers in himself.

He was getting desperate, his wrist starting to cramp from the fast pace of his fingers and his toes curling against the tiled floor. He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the footsteps over the sound of his own breathy moans and the wet squelch of his fingers. He didn’t notice Louis standing there until his duffle bag dropped to the floor.

“And what’s going on here?”

Louis was watching him with the sort of smile he wore when he’d be laughing at anybody other than Harry. His eyes drifted down to where Harry’s fingers were still plunging in and out, too far gone to stop, and his smile widened. Harry knew he looked ridiculous - wearing nothing but flamingo print boxers and a chip clip in his hair, sprawled on the floor of the kitchen fingering a watermelon - but he didn’t care. He looked up at Louis and whimpered pitifully, pleading with his eyes.

Louis stepped closer, watching the needy hitch of Harry’s hips and the clumsy press of his fingers. He came to stand between his feet and Harry spread his legs wider for him.

“You couldn’t even make it to the bedroom, huh?” Louis asked with a smirk, letting his ankle brush against Harry’s. “Too desperate for that. Had to get your cunt out in the middle of the kitchen.”

Harry moaned at that, his fingers clenching. Louis knew how it got him off to talk about his cunt.

“Yeah,” he nodded blearily. “Yeah.”

“‘S a treat to come home to, though,” Louis told him, kneeling down. “Look so pretty, Sweetheart. Can I have a closer look?”

“Yeah,” Harry said again. “Please. Touch me.”

Louis drug his hands up Harry’s thighs, feeling his muscles jump under his touch, and brought them to the open dripping fruit at his core. He slid his fingers through the mess of seeds and pulp and juice in the basin of the melon and pressed them in beside Harry’s. Harry moaned as if Louis was stretching him wide, letting his own fingers fall to the side and offering Louis the lead.

“You’re so wet, Baby,” Louis told him, finding a rhythm. He swiped his left forefinger through some of the juice that had splashed onto Harry’s thigh and licked over the digit. “Taste so good.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Harry gasped, arching further into Louis’ touch. “Want your mouth.”

“Where?” Louis asked, grinning devilishly. “On your pussy?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Harry said, his chest heaving. “Please. Want it.”

Louis leaning forward to press a kiss against Harry’s open mouth and slid down onto his belly, curling his fingers around the edges of the melon as if spreading Harry open. The first press of his tongue had Harry keening, catching his sticky dripping fingers in Louis’ hair and pulling him closer. Louis was happy to oblige, tucking his chin into the open slit of the watermelon and lapping hungrily at the fruit.

“Such a perfect pussy, Baby,” he said, feeling the melon shift with the movement of Harry’s hips. “Always so good for me. So Pretty.”

He dove back in, moving two fingers closer to the top of the slit and circling them as he would a clit. Harry could feel himself hurtling closer and closer to the edge, propelled by the sight of Louis’ cheeks and chin dripping and glistening as his tongue plunged into the hole Harry’s fingers had made. He slurped noisily at the pool of juice and looked up at Harry, replacing his tongue with his fingers and pistoning them at a fast pace that would have Harry drooling if he could feel it.

“Cum for me, Sweetheart,” he said, watermelon juice trickling steadily down his neck. “You can do it. Such a good girl for me.”

Harry thrust up hard against the back of the watermelon and came in his pants with a cry, his body going limp against the cabinet like a marionette with its strings cut. Louis moved the watermelon off of his lap and gathered him up in his arms. Harry was breathing heavily, his eyes drooping shut, and Louis pressed kisses across his cheeks. Harry licked his lips and tasted the juice Louis was leaving all over him, darting out his tongue to lick over Louis’ cheek and humming and the taste of watermelon.

“You taste good,” he said, the words slightly slurred.

“So do you,” Louis grinned, tightening his arms around his waist. He pressed another loud smacking kiss to Harry’s cheek bone and pulled back. “C’mon. I’ll run us a bath.”

“Okay,” Harry said, only pouting a bit when Louis stood up and pulled him up with him. His legs were wobbly but Louis kept an arm around him while they moved to the washroom.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Harry said from his seat on the closed toilet while Louis’ tested the temperature of the water.

“Me too,” Louis smiled fondly, taking his hand to guide him into the tub.

He decided the mess in the kitchen could wait until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I'm back to spread the word of Harry Style's watermelon kink! Come discuss it with me on [tumblr!](https://rosemarianthyme.tumblr.com/) This was mostly written in a haze in the middle of the night and is only lightly edited so hopefully it's at least halfway comprehensible!
> 
> [Fic Post](https://rosemarianthyme.tumblr.com/post/190557845122/watermelon-sugar-high-by-rosemarianthyme-resting)


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